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Sunday’s Sermon – Ghost Stories – Luke 24:36-48

April 15, 2018 Leave a Comment

Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed!) Even though all of the Peeps and chocolate bunnies are now in the 75% off carts, we are still in the liturgical season of Easter, which spans 50 days from the Resurrection to Pentecost. It’s important that we think about Easter as more than just one day of celebration; a whole season of Eastertide prompts us to maintain the energy of those who first ran from the empty tomb. That’s why last week we participated in some “Holy Humor,” to keep the joy and energy of Easter alive. Even two weeks later, we should be brimming with excitement over the news of Christ’s resurrection. In fact, most theologians remind us that every Sunday is truly a celebration of the Resurrection, although practically speaking it can be hard to sustain that level year-round. Once the initial joy of the announcement fades, what happens next? That is what we explore in these 50 days.

For the disciples, the days after Christ’s crucifixion were a mixture of emotions. Many of them had fled the scene at the garden of Gethsemane and foot of the cross. We might imagine they huddled together in the shadows, trying to stay under the radar and out of sight lest they meet a similar fate. John’s gospel reveals them shutting out the rest of the world in a locked upper room, presumably from fear. But we know the gospel message continued to spread. Do you remember the refrain from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar? The apostles sing “what’s the buzz? Tell me what’s a happen’” over and over again. Post-resurrection we might imagine it being a bit more hushed, but with even more anxiety as they try to put the pieces of it all together. In Luke’s account of these days, just before this morning’s text, two disciples travel to Emmaus, and a stranger joins them to talk about it all. That stranger, of course, turns out to be the risen Christ, revealed in the breaking of bread. Almost immediately, Cleopas and the other disciple race back to Jerusalem, a 7 mile trip, to proclaim that “The Lord has risen indeed” (verse 34). This is the buzz where our text begins.

And, as if a stranger turning out to be Jesus isn’t exciting enough – in the appearance in today’s lesson, Jesus almost appears out of nowhere. “Surprise! Here I am!” aren’t quite his words, but rather words of peace, a reassurance for their anxiety and fear. Can you imagine? You know how when you’re talking about someone, even something good, and then they walk into the room unexpectedly? You are probably left a little speechless and lose your train of thought. Multiply that and you have a tiny sense of this moment. The disciples probably froze, and turned sheet white, as if they had seen a ghost. Because, despite the news they had been talking about, that is exactly what they perceived as happening; the development of yet another overwhelming ghost story.

Admittedly, I’m not too keen on the idea of ghost stories. I still get chills when I think about the many paranormal activity tv shows that used some semblance of science to examine abandoned haunted places, complete with shadowy images and ominous music in the background. There was even a show on Nickelodeon when I was a kid called Are You Afraid of the Dark? which involved a group of teenagers who formed “The Midnight Society” and each week told a different scary story to the group around a campfire, with nods to the classic Twilight Zone. Yeah, I couldn’t even watch that in the light of the afternoon. That said, I do love a good mystery or plot with twists and turns, and have enjoyed more than one historical ghost tour, as history and rumor intertwine. There are numerous kinds of “ghost stories,” almost to suit every taste, from classics like The Haunting to suspense like The Sixth Sense. Some people live for this kind of uneasiness and apprehension as the lines between fiction and reality are blurred. In fact, that’s what makes the most effective ghost story; when it is so close to being possible that it just might be true.

But there’s a flip side. In many cases, the stories unravel. Like at the end of Scooby Doo when a mask is pulled off and the monster is really a shopowner, or you go to investigate the scratching sound only to realize it’s a tree brushing against the window. Skepticism and closer examination often expose wild imaginations and outright fiction. I think, in part, this is why a story like we have in Luke 24 matters to us. For although the disciples think Jesus is a ghost, their assertion is proven wrong; not once, but twice. First, Jesus invites them to touch him and see that he is flesh and bone. This is not some apparition. They aren’t going to wave their arms through him. He is fully present with them. Here, Jesus affirms the incarnation. God isn’t just with the disciples in a spiritual sense; God dwells among them, and this includes the risen Lord too. In the flesh.

There is a bit of debate among theologians about what to make of the gospel claims of bodily resurrection. Some, like Marcus Borg, argue that the physical presence of Christ isn’t what is at stake with the resurrection, but rather the importance of the experienced reality of the post-Easter Jesus as the inspiration for the claim “Jesus is Lord.” In this perspective, a ghost story would have just as much significance for the disciples, and still leads to the same kind of new existence for those who believe in Christ. If the bones of Jesus were discovered somewhere, it would not shake the foundations of this faith, because it’s not the literal bones that matter. For others, though, this tangible nature of the risen Christ is essential. N.T. Wright notes that it matters because:

Resurrection implies at the very least a coming back to something that had been forfeited, that is, bodily life. . . [and] The deepest meanings of the resurrection have to do with new creation. If the stories are metaphors for anything, they are metaphors for the belief that God’s new world had been brought to birth[i].

He goes on to note that the return of the physical Jesus matters in the context of debate among first century Judaism about the notion of Resurrection, for the first Christians, certainly the disciples, would have framed their understanding of this even in light of their Jewish faith. Wright notes:

There was a spectrum of belief about life after death in first-century Judaism. The Sadducees, the ruling elite, denied a future life of any sort . . . Many Jews believed in a continuing life after death, but in a disembodied state that neither needed nor expected a future reembodiment. . . [while] Resurrection, for Pharisees, was thus part of their belief both in the goodness of the created, physical world and in the ultimate triumph of the justice of God.

As such, the understanding of Jesus’ bodily resurrection would have made a clear separation between this a simply a renewal movement within the Jewish faith, and a distinctly new way of understanding God’s fulfillment of the promises of the prophets. For this, among other reasons, Wright and others stand firmly behind the bodily resurrection as central to an understanding of the meaning of not just the Resurrection, but faith in Jesus Christ. It’s a spectrum of belief, really, and know that wherever you are you are in good Reformed theological company. And, if you’ve never really thought much about it one way or the other, or are content for it to simply be one of those things left to the great mystery of faith, you’re in good company as well. But texts like this open us to think about it a bit more. And while we don’t have to land on a definitive answer, in fact I’d argue that’s impossible, it can be helpful for us to identify where we are and how that may impact the framework of our experience of Easter and of living as one who professes Jesus Christ as our risen Lord.

In all conversations, the importance of the resurrection is affirmed. And, as Stephen Cooper notes:

To insist on the reality of the resurrected body is to demand that we accept our present reality as the place where transformations of ultimate significance take place[ii].

I think that’s what Jesus was trying to prove in his offering of his body to the disciples. That this wasn’t just some figment of their imaginations or hopes in the midst of despair. It was true and real. This matters to us, today, too. Our faith should not be something lost in fantasy or fiction. It should be grounded in the real and tangible experience of Christ among us. Our faith isn’t some theoretical idea. It is something we can touch.

So the disciples touch him and their joy begins to grow. But they still aren’t sure. You can imagine a glistening in their eyes, a turn of the head as they look at him again. Could this really be true? Jesus offers a second offer of proof, asking for something to eat. And he eats some broiled fish. Clearly this is something a ghost could not do. Now the disciples get it. Jesus puts the ghost story to rest, because there are other things he needs the disciples to hear. His offers of proof remove the distractions that otherwise would keep this as simply a fantastic ghost story of inspiration and wonder.

Just as Jesus is present with them, he calls them to embody this good news of resurrection and build upon what they know from scripture and his teachings and become witnesses to all that has been proclaimed, including the resurrection. Barbara Brown Taylor offers that this is how Jesus ushers in their new way of being. She writes:

After he was gone, they would still have God’s Word, but that Word was going to need some new flesh. The disciples were going to need something warm and near that they could bump into on a regular basis, something so real that they would not be able to intellectualize it and so essentially untidy that there was no way they could ever gain control over it. So Jesus gave them things they could get their hands on, things that would require them to get close enough to touch one another[iii].

He calls them to take on these teachings as a way of life together. Just as he has been transformed, resurrected, they too are to be changed in ways that impact their way of being in the world. That is the point of the gospel after all. That is the aim of Easter. To give those who would follow Christ, even the church, new life. One that is marked by tangible engagement with the Word, not just read and studied, but lived and breathed. And when we do that, we fully reflect the image of the risen Christ. As Barbara Brown Taylor notes:

In our embodied life together, the words of our doctrines take on flesh[iv].

For me, this is why it matters that our story in Luke isn’t just another ghost story or idle tale. Because if it is, we let it gloss over us like another fairy tale or fantasy. But doing so misses the impact of the resurrection. It trivializes it and makes it just some other moralistic tale. Instead, the risen Christ comes among us and calls us to reach out, touch and see that this is no ghost. Because if we can allow for a God who puts on flesh himself, even after death, we might just have a faith that we can touch, too. May it be so.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 15, 2018

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[i] Marcus J. Borg and N.T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions, (San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins, 1999).
[ii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Theological Perspective: Luke 24:36b-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).
[iv] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – God Still Laughs – Genesis 18:1-15, Psalm 126 Holy Humor Sunday

April 8, 2018 Leave a Comment

There are a lot of words we use to describe God: Creator, Omnipotent (All-Powerful), Lord, Loving, Present, All-Knowing (Omnipresent), All-Seeing (Omniscient), Ruler, Amazing, Victorious, Wonderful, and the list goes on. Many of them come from our understanding of God revealed in the stories of Scripture, and of course our own experiences of the divine. And yet, with an immense vocabulary and wealth of resources, there is one word I think we don’t often include in our list of acclamations for who God is: funny. If such an adjective strikes you as odd, you’re probably asking “does God have a sense of humor?” If so, what does that even mean? Our image of God tends to be more serious, more stoic, more dignified that a God who rolls around giggling. And yet, over and over again, scripture tells us about a God who sends God’s people out with shouts of joy and jubilation. To be filled with such joy must mean that there is also a brightness and lightheartedness to God. And given the immense playfulness of the works of God’s hand, I would argue God has got a funny bone or two. Take a look at creation. From the aardvark to a colorful array of flowers, God has a creative touch that crosses over into whimsy or even ridiculousness. Given God’s interaction with people throughout the biblical narrative, I would also argue that God has to have a good sense of humor in order to put up with the ridiculousness that humankind has created.

Our text from Genesis is a perfect example. Following a beautiful display of hospitality, three strange visitors in the night announce that Sarah, well beyond child-bearing years, will have a son. It is a laughable proposition, impossible you might even say. The only thing to do when hearing such an outlandish assertion is to laugh, which, of course, is what Sarah does. God enters the scene to confirm this news from the messengers, and calls attention to this response. After all, is anything too wonderful for God? God reminds Abraham and Sarah that with God, even the impossible is possible. Sarah resists a bit more, denying her laughter in fear. But God has heard it and won’t let it slide. “Oh yes, you did laugh.” I don’t think God was so much reprimanding her for laughter, but rather recognizing that sometimes the mysterious works of God are so beyond our comprehension that we have nothing left to do but laugh. And with that, in the holy presence of accompaniment, I imagine that God laughs with us. Perhaps it’s more of a knowing chuckle, a pat on the head, an “oh, if you only knew what I know” kind of laughter, but it reflects the gentleness with which God holds us that can guide us into a future where dreams indeed can become reality.

Laughter has the power to move our lives forward even in the midst of difficult times. In the story of Sarah, it is laughter that paves the way . . . to a son she names Isaac, which means “he laughs.” I wonder if the same can be said about the Easter story. Last week, we explored the curious and abrupt original ending of Mark’s gospel, which leaves us hanging in verse 8 as the women leave the tomb, not telling anyone anything because they are afraid. I wonder what broke their silence? What helped them overcome their fear?

Could it have been something like laughter? Comedian Stephen Colbert is quite open about his Catholic faith and the role it plays in his life, and in an interview in 2015, he connects the role of joy and laughter to our lives of faith in a compelling way. Take a look:

[VIDEO CLIP:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3XE6EK7MV8

Salt and Light TV’s full interview with Stephen Colbert can be seen at www.saltandlighttv.org/witness/colbert Premieres Sunday, September 13, 2015 at 8pm ET #ColbertWitness]

Laughter, then, is a holy act that connects us to one another and to God. Have you ever stood with family and friends, mourning the loss of a loved one? My experience is that, almost without fail, stories will start to be shared that erupt into laughter, which breaks through the tension of grief and opens the way to remembrance. Just a few years ago, I remember going through my grandfather’s house with my family, particularly a box of things he had saved as mementos from my life. There were pictures, of course, birthday cards and school projects I had sent him, and then, tucked into the corner next to my wedding program was a little organza bag that held our wedding favors from a candy bar for our guests, which may have been my grandfather’s favorite part of our wedding. As I pulled it out, smiling that he’d kept the little bag, I quickly did a double-take, noting that it was still filled with candy, and took it to show the rest of my family. Suddenly, in the midst of grief, laughter erupted mingled with tears that we are once both sad and joyful.

It had to have been the joy of the good news of the resurrection, that spilled out and gave the women and disciples the courage to speak the unfathomable truth that the one who was crucified now lived, even as they struggled with their own intense grief. Such moments reminded them that they were not alone, and the appearances of the risen Christ recorded in other gospels provide additional help to move their story, our story, forward. This Sunday is marked with Holy Humor because we need to remember that on Easter morning, God was laughing. Laughing at those who thought death could contain Jesus Christ. Laughing at sin and evil in the world’s attempts to control it. On Easter morning, God declares that God will always have the last laugh. The greatest reversal ever – resurrection – has been accomplished. It’s worth some laughter, because it borders on the ridiculous and absurd. And yet, at the same time, it’s true. It is the bedrock of our faith, the hope to which we cling.

We, like the women at the tomb, like the disciples, like Thomas, whose story in John’s gospel is typically read on this Sunday after Easter, are caught between the tension of a story that is unbelievable and yet the one in which we ground our belief. It is good and right that we should laugh at the very idea of it. Not because we think it’s stupid, but because our laughter is the only way we can overcome our fear of what if it is true after all. Just like Sarah, laughter allows us to breathe into the possibility for just a moment and experience the raw joy it presents. And in our laughter, God shows up, with that chuckle and nod that reminds us that with God, all things are possible. And we laugh again, because it all seems too good to be true. The news of resurrection – the promise of eternal life and unmerited grace – it overwhelms us with joy and laughter, a deep, resounding laughter that ripples throughout our whole body. That joy is what leads us to praise and rejoicing, to worship, to a deeper love of God who created us and spun this whole crazy world into being.

So this morning, we laugh, a little or a lot, in hopes of catching on to some of that divine joy that fills the empty tomb. And to remind ourselves, even when things get difficult or seem impossible, that God is with us, and God is still laughing at the face of that which would otherwise bind us. What good news of great joy, indeed! Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 8, 2018

What is “Holy Humor Sunday”? On this day we celebrate the unbridled joy of the good news of Christ’s resurrection! It is “Holy Humor” Sunday, a tradition extending to some of the earliest Christian theologians who noted that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. Easter was “God’s supreme joke played on death.” So the Sunday after Easter became a “bright Sunday” filled with joy and laughter as people played jokes on each other, sang, danced, told jokes and had fun. Our service this week features a lighthearted feel with a sprinkling of jokes, all geared to help us experience joy more fully as we worship God together!

Sunday’s Sermon – The Open-Ended Tomb – Mark 16:1-8

April 1, 2018 Leave a Comment

You may be wondering, where is the rest of the story? If you were following along in the Bible, you might note that there are 12 more verses to go in Mark’s gospel; rich and wonderful stories about Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene, then two other disciples, and finally the 11 disciples as a group before returning to heaven. These are the stories we read in Matthew, Luke, and John, who add in additional proof-of-resurrection stories, like Jesus inviting Thomas to place his hands in the wounds, or even eating fish grilled over an open fire. This is the ending of the Easter story we have come to expect, the risen Christ walking around, making appearances to those who loved him. It is from here that we can say we, too, have seen the risen Christ, and sing our Alleluias at the good news. But Mark’s gospel gives us a different ending to consider. The verses that are believed to be the original ending of the earliest gospel account, concluding with verse 8, reveal the perplexing discovery of the empty tomb and indication that Jesus “has been raised,” but the story ends in fear and wonder and silence. In Mark’s gospel, we don’t so much get a dramatic conclusion, but an open-ended tomb that leaves us in a cliffhanger.

Such an ending should put us on the edge of our seats. It brings an element of anticipation for what might happen next. It is what prompts us to let the next episode start playing if we’re watching a captivating series of our favorite show on Netflix. Of course we are going to continue watching – we want to find out what happens next. Some of the best series writing, whether it’s novels or television or a movie franchise, leave the ending open-ended. The Merriam Webster Dictionary gives us a good definition for what this means, defining “open-ended” as:

not rigorously fixed: such as adaptable to the developing needs of a situation, or permitting or designed to permit spontaneous and unguided responses[i].

Perhaps this is what Mark was trying to do – to evoke a response, for readers to join with the women at the tomb and experience the overwhelming emotions of what such a jarring revelation might mean for their lives. Some commentators argue that Mark leaves us in a moment of suspense on purpose, challenging us to consider how we might complete the story ourselves. That is, of course, our tendency when things are left without conclusion.

One of my favorite shows is The Big Bang Theory which airs on CBS. One of the main characters, Sheldon, has ongoing issues with things having the proper closure. In one episode, his girlfriend Amy tries to help him overcome it. Take a look:

[clips from “The Closure Alternative,” Big Bang Theory, Season 6, Episode 21, originally aired April 25, 2013.]

He just can’t help it. And neither can we. Want to drive a musician crazy? Put an unresolved chord at the end of a song. [Denise to play song]. Our text for today is abrupt and startling, not smooth and comforting. It may even be frustrating, driving us to avoid the awkwardness and challenge it presents by adding to it. That’s what later authorities copying Mark’s manuscript did, even, picking up after verse 8 to “fill in the gaps” and end everything neatly. In literary terms, it is called denouement, from the French root which means “to untie.” It’s the final conclusion of a story, when all the plot pieces find resolution. A classic example? Fairy tales that end “and they all lived happily ever after.” Or fables that drive home the point, “and the moral of the story is.” We even do it informally in conversation, “to make a long story short.” We like things to be neat and tidy, complete and resolved. This is true about our lives, and especially true about our faith.

In fact, I think that’s why so many of us struggle with belief and faith in general – it simply leaves too much unresolved; too many questions; too many openings and different ways of understanding, none of which ever seem to fully satisfy our need to know. Like children, our faith can prompt us to exist in an ongoing cycle of “yes, but why?” with each new revelation. In Mark’s gospel, this seems to be part of the design. His version of Easter morning doesn’t come so much with a “the end,” but rather a “to be continued.” On one hand, this is incredible news. It is the point of the gospel and gives meaning to the devastation we experience in the drama of Holy Week. The story lacks its meaning if the ending is simply, “and then Jesus died.” The power of Easter morning lies in our ability to proclaim that death is never the final answer. That darkness never wins, for joy indeed comes in the morning. God did not let the violence and hatred and sin of the world have the final say[ii].

But in the gospel of Mark, the resurrection isn’t the last word either. That means there is still more to come. The open-ended nature of the tomb is that there is still more God is doing and will do in the world. Easter morning is about God’s future breaking into our reality. This is a future that breaks apart every understanding we have of how things are supposed to end. You know the saying “few things in life are certain: death and taxes.” Christ’s resurrection takes death off the table. This should be unnerving. It should be a little bit scary. It’s what professor Rolf Jacobson calls a, existential “holy crap” kind of moment, when we realize we might have to re-evaluate everything we know in order to wrap our minds around the meaning of life once again[iii].

It’s exhilarating to say “the story isn’t over.” But then that means, “oh, the story isn’t over.” Perhaps this is why the women were so scared at the tomb. If the story isn’t over with Jesus’ death, then all of those challenging instructions he gave to them about living in God’s kingdom here and now were still true. They are not “off the hook” from the demanding call of discipleship. In fact, the empty tomb thrusts them into an even more challenging way of being in the world: sharing news that seems impossible and too good to be true to a world consumed with death and easy conclusions. The resurrection gives them a new reality, not just hypothetical, but real and gritty.

Maybe that’s exactly what the gospel writer in Mark intends. For the resurrection to usher us into a new way of being. The mysterious young man at the tomb prompts this journey, telling the women to return to Galilee and find Christ there. In Galilee, they will be drawn again into this incredible story, and maybe this time have a sense of what it means. Jesus has gone ahead of them. God’s work is continuing, with or without them. The ending of Mark’s gospel is so jarring, so moving, that it compels us to dive back into the story itself and see what we might have missed the first time we heard it. Because suddenly, we hear the story of this man named Jesus walking around the hillsides and teaching and healing people in a new light – because we know that this truly is the son of God. The open tomb brings an open-ended invitation to be a part of what is happening next. The story of God raising Jesus from the dead is amazing. But it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning. It’s a cliffhanger. If God can overcome even death, there is endless possibility for what God can and will do next.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 1, 2018

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[i] “open-ended,” Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary- https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/open-ended, accessed 3/28/18.
[ii] Diana Butler Bass frames an understanding of the crucifixion in this way, “God did not send the “gift” of a dead child for salvation. God gave the gift of a child to the world to embody the way of shalom and to upend the empire of death. The Empire killed that child. But God wouldn’t let that execution be the last word. That’s the Easter story” Twitter Post 3/27/18, 7:58 pm, https://twitter.com/dianabutlerbass/status/978783309357559808, accessed 3/29/18.
[iii] Sermon Brainwave #412 Working Preacher, originally posted April 5, 2015, http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1003, accessed 3/28/2018.

Sunday’s Sermon – We Wish to See Jesus – John 12:12-26

March 25, 2018 Leave a Comment

When was the last time you went to a parade? When I was in middle school, my family moved to L.A., also known as “Lower Alabama” – Spanish Fort, to be exact. One of the highlights of community life each year was a few days of vacation from school marked for Mardi Gras. Little did we know that Mobile, just across the bay from where we lived, claims to be the birthplace of such celebration[i]. Regardless of location, though, parades are a sight to be seen. The floats are elaborate, with people working for months on end to create innovative and over the top displays that will move through the streets for only a few hours. And of course, there are the amazing florists and artists who work on the Parade of Roses floats in California, with all live embellishments. It is amazing. For Mardi Gras, of course, there is more than just watching. Parades are interactive. People follow along with the floats, screaming “throw me somethin’ mister!” in the hopes of being seen themselves, so that they will be showered with beads and moon pies and roses and all sorts of other toys. It didn’t take me long to learn to stick with friends who knew people in the floats, who would focus things your way. And, with two preschool-aged brothers, we learned making them visible meant even more toys launched in our direction. Parades fill the air with a spirit of celebration.

Similarly, the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is bursting with the same kind of energy, as crowds clamor around Jesus. He isn’t riding on a massive float, but rather a humble young donkey. Nevertheless, he is greeted by the masses in Jerusalem as a king. Perhaps they have been following him across the hillsides in Galilee, listening to him preach, teach, and perform miracles. Or maybe they have just heard about it and are coming to check it out. In John’s gospel, there is much reason for celebration at this point in the narrative. Jesus, only one chapter prior, has raised Lazarus from the dead. News like this – resurrection – spreads quickly. The crowd testifies to this good news, and with a display of power like this it is easy to see why many came to believe this was the long-awaited for Messiah, and they wanted to get a glimpse of the beginning of what surely would be a new age.

In John’s gospel account, we assume that the crowd was the common people of Israel. No description is given about any particular religious group or class of people. So we might assume, as Paul Barton does, that:

because we see in the Gospels that people from all walks of life approached and followed Jesus, . . . the crowd in Jerusalem included people from all economic, religious, and social groups within Israel[ii].

In other words, they were ordinary people, perhaps just like us, but also inclusive of the entire span of all humanity, sharing the news that the Savior has come. Such a crowd underscores the entire gospel message:

that God uses the humble, the oppressed, the vulnerable as the instruments of witness and revelation[iii].

The waving of palm branches is significant as well, because it tells us about the nature of this grand display. Palms have a political meaning, dating back almost 200 years before this event (circa 167-160 BCE), when the Jewish people revolted against a Seleucid Empire by refusing to worship Greek Gods, leading to a series of battles known as the Maccabean Revolt, recorded in the book of Maccabees, which is not in our biblical canon as Protestants, but is found in among the books in the Apocrypha, that is included in some other faith traditions.

In two passages describing the victories of the Maccabees over their Gentile overlords, palm leaves are used as markers of victory and celebration (1 Macc. 13:51; 2 Macc. 10:7)[iv].

Such symbolism would not have been incidental for the people in Jerusalem, nor for John in his writing of the gospel, which is rich with metaphor and meaning. In this moment, it is clear how the crowd sees Jesus. Their shouts of “Hosanna!” – Save Us – are earnest pleas for redemption, for this is their king.

On Palm Sunday, we join this boisterous crowd with all of its frenetic energy. We are as the Pharisees describe, part of “the world that has gone after him,” proclaiming Jesus as our Lord. The palms waving and crowds cheering bring a joyful tone to even a dreary day, a wonderful hint at the celebration that will unfold one week from now. John slips in a comment about the disciples in verse 16, that they didn’t really understand what was happening until after the full events had transpired. How fortunate for us to view this parade with all the benefit of knowing the fullness of where this story leads – to the cross and the empty tomb. Nevertheless, we, too, might misunderstand the implications if we are only focused on the revelry and forget to look up and see Jesus for the fullness of his message to the world. Judith McDaniel calls us to attention, naming the ways our vision of Jesus on Palm Sunday might fall short. She writes:

When we proclaimed him to be all that we had longed for, we knew not what we said . . . We still exalt the forms of kingship, not the content of his reign. We focus on the outline of the concept without perceiving its substance. We look for a crown, while we have been given a cross. We still do not understand that he is not a kingdom of fame and achievement. His is a realm of service and sacrifice. His is not a political victory. It is a promise of victorious, abundant life now. His action is less a claim concerning himself than it is a sign of the presence of God’s kingdom[v].

To truly be “Palm Sunday” people, we must dig deeper in this story, and go beyond the parade. One way to do this is to expand our reading for the day to include what happens next. After all, none of our Biblical texts exist in some sort of storybook vacuum. They happen in context, as a sequence, and in the case of the gospels, a carefully crafted one to build upon greater themes to help us ultimately understand who this Jesus character really is, that (as John’s gospel indicates) we might come to believe (see John 20:31). Among the crowd, or at least those who followed, John introduces some outsiders, Greek, who speak to Philip and Andrew, the two disciples with Greek-sounding names from Galilee[vi]. Their polite request speaks to the heart of where I think our focus should be on Palm Sunday, or any Sunday for that matter. “We wish to see Jesus.”

It is a polite request, marked by social convention and respect. Of course, they mean more than literal “seeing.” It’s not that they were particularly short and didn’t get a good view. They wish to have an audience with Jesus; to meet and speak with him. Their request parallels the invitational phrase Christ himself has used throughout this gospel to the disciples and others who followed: “Come and See.” These words tip us off that, in contrast to some religious leaders like the Pharisees, and even the gathered crowd of people in Jerusalem, there are in fact people who are able to see Jesus for the fullness of who he truly is. What is more, these are outsiders – Greeks. They remind us of the broadness of the gospel message being truly “for all the world,” and at the same time humble those of us “on the inside” with the awareness that the best insights and understanding might come from sources other than ourselves.

Jesus’ response is dark and challenging, further indicating that the kingship longed for and cheered on by the massive crowd is going to look quite different in reality. Alexander Wimberly notes that Jesus’ response about the grain of wheat reminds us that:

The heart of Christianity is a bunch of unsettling truths: some things we are familiar with need to die, in order for new life to arise; the work of the Spirit will not be contained in set patterns; and anyone and everyone who wants to get involved should do so[vii].

Getting involved in Christianity is less about coming forward as part of a crowd caught up in merriment, and more about coming forward with the words offered by the Greeks, saying “we wish to see Jesus,” acknowledging the depth of such a request that may take us to places unexpected, and may ask us to let go of things and ideas we once clung to as sacred. It is the culmination of our Lenten practice – letting go of our own expectations, and preparing to embrace the realities before us.

Saying “we wish to see Jesus” opens our eyes to the world around us. It prompts us to ask hard questions, and investigate things more closely. It calls to pay attention to the ways Christ may be revealed even in unexpected places in our lives. Most of all, it sets an intention for living as followers of the one on the donkey, even if we don’t have it all figured out just yet, to seek a deeper relationship with the divine .

Saying “we wish to see Jesus” puts us on the road, not to jump from our Palm Sunday parade to Easter celebration next Sunday, but to travel the difficulty of this Holy Week. To remember the path Christ himself took to Jerusalem; to witness his fury in the temple; to hear his frustration with organized religion the way it was; to encounter the extreme reversal of our Lord kneeling at the dirty, dusty feet of his disciples and washing them as a servant; to wrestle with his commandment to love; to feel the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha; to weep with the women as darkness descends. Holy Week gives us one of the most remarkable overviews of a multifaceted Savior, a multifaceted God. It helps us see the magnitude of the greater story, which leads us to a greater appreciation for the empty tomb, and plants in us a longing to repeat that refrain “we wish to see Jesus” as we look for the living Christ among us.

So may this statement guide our journey to the empty tomb. May we approach this week with eyes open, in celebration, yes, and in contemplation of the greatest story of our faith. Most importantly, may we, with every fiber of who we are, wish to see Jesus. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 25, 2018

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[i] http://www.al.com/news/mobile/index.ssf/2018/01/as_alabama_trolls_new_orleans.html
[ii] Paul Barton, “Theological Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[iii] Paul Barton, “Theological Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[iv] G. J. Riley, “Exegetical Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[v] Judith M. McDaniel, “Homiletical Perspective: John 12:12-19,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[vi] “Of the twelve disciples, only Philip and Andrew have purely Greek names . . . Both are from Galilee (1:44), which is, according to Matthew 4:15 (quoting Isa. 9:1), “Galilee of the Gentiles,” a district of Palestine that has long been majority non-Jewish. It may be that the Greeks mentioned here are also from Galilee and approach Andrew and Philip as fellow Galileans with familiar-sounding Greek names.” G. J. Riley, “Exegetical Perspective: John 12: 20-26,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).
[vii] Alexander Wimberly, “Pastoral Perspective: John 12: 20-26,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 2, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).

Sunday’s Sermon – Extravagant Faith – John 12:1-8

March 18, 2018 Leave a Comment

This is, in my estimation, one of the best times of the year, especially if you are a college basketball fan. The only thing better than a great game? Four games at once, especially if an upset is involved. More is better. Is your team is up by 10? Don’t just sit back and coast through the second half. You cheer for them to keep going and make it 20, a more impressive victory to strike fear in your next opponent. Beyond basketball, this quest for “more” seems to be a part of our culture. Value is placed on getting the “mores” in our lives: purchasing a vehicle that gets more gas mileage, having one more item to add to our collection, being more successful than our coworker, taking one more day of vacation, getting more “likes” on a post. Whatever good we receive, it seems that we always want more.

Our text from John’s gospel presents us with a slightly different understanding of what living with a “more” mentality might mean as a disciple of Christ. In the spirit of thanksgiving, Martha and Mary give a dinner for Jesus and his disciples, in celebration for the incredible miracle that has just happened as Jesus raised their brother Lazarus from the dead. It must have been an overwhelming moment for this family. How could they possibly thank Jesus for such a gift? There must be something “more” they could do.

Mary comes forward with a gift – a pound of costly perfume – and liberally pours it on Jesus’ feet. This is a moment of abundance, rich with symbolism. It was not just a few drops, but a considerable amount of fragrance. In fact, it is one of the few times in the New Testament where smell is even mentioned, and it is a significant reversal. As Frances Taylor Gench describes it:

a fragrant smell and grateful love now fill a house that had once been filled with mourning and the smell of death’s decay[i].

There is more to this story than just a fragrance. This is a moment that foreshadows the events that will come. The only other time the evangelist John uses the words “dinner” or the “wiping” in his gospel happen in John 13 during the meal Jesus shares with his disciples in the Upper Room[ii]. Mary’s action, then, parallels Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples in an incredible act of servitude and love. This moment also foreshadows Christ’s death, and the anointing with oil and spices that would have followed.

William Carver says “nothing begins a conversation like an extravagant gift[iii].” Mary sparks quite the conversation. After her act of devotion, Judas jumps in, essentially asking “is there a thing as too much?” That is the question at the heart of our quest for “more” in life, isn’t it? We are pushing the limits of our capacities. For some things, we would argue that no, there is never too much – for example, I could argue that there is no such thing as too many Girl Scout Cookies, or too many pairs of shoes. For other things, though, like salaries for star athletes or the amount of sugary cereal a child pours into a bowl, we may find ourselves saying “that’s too much.” When we fall into the latter mentality, we tend to label things as “extravagant”: over the top, not necessary. This is the voice of Judas, who immediately responds to Mary’s gift with skepticism, offering the practical view of things, even if of dubious genuine care for the poor.

Although clearly he has missed the symbolism, I think he does raise a valid point. There is a tension between extravagance and our quest for more. At some point, we have to say enough is enough. Set some boundaries, and be content with what we have. This is true in our lives and even within the church, as we contemplate new ideas and make decisions about how we live. We can’t say yes to everything, even the good and worthwhile endeavors; we’d all be exhausted and would end up with activities going 24/7. Instead, we pray about and talk about what God is calling us to do right now. It’s about deciding when to say yes, and when to say no. We call this process discernment. And part of this discernment involves using our resources wisely, so as not to be wasteful with what we are given. In some ways, this is what Judas points to in his commentary on Mary’s action. He reminds all who are present of just how extravagant this moment is – perfume worth three hundred denarii, nearly a years’ wages for a laborer. There is a cost to extravagance, and it is steep. Judas is, in essence, asking those gathered if it is worth it. Clearly he thinks it is not.

Jesus responds with a differing opinion. He justifies the cost, speaking up for Mary and instructing Judas to “leave her alone,” revealing the fast-approaching reality of his death. In this moment, Jesus again praises Mary for her faithful devotion.

In Mary, then, the reader is given a picture of the fullness of the life of discipleship. Her act shows forth the love that will be the hallmark of discipleship in John and the recognition of Jesus’ identity that is the decisive mark of Christian life[iv].

The faith that Mary models, to Judas, the disciples, her family, and even to us, is a faith marked by extravagance. It is a faith that always seeks “more.”

In contrast to Mary, I think many times faith is a part of our lives that often gets shortchanged in our quest for “more.” We want more sleep, so we hit the snooze button on a Sunday morning. We want more time for our hobbies, so we put off reading our Bibles for another day when we “have more time.” We want more money to get the latest gadget or take that vacation, so we adjust our giving just a bit. In short, we let our need for “more” become the priority over our faith. We spend more time worrying about the challenges and issues in our lives, more time trying to figure out our relationships and schedules, more energy and resources on material things, and, because something has to give, less time on our relationship with God.

Instead of letting our faith take a backseat, perhaps we should reframe our understanding of “more,” and, like Mary, seek to live with extravagant faith. Such a faith may seem ridiculous to others, wasteful even. But we rest assured that our Savior encourages us to continue even in the face of adversity, for we have a Savior who believes in extravagance, over-the-top actions. That, of course, is one of the messages of the cross, the overabundance of love that God had for the world.

Of all the things that Mary’s gift represents, particularly to fulfill the gospel writer’s theological connecting points in the greater narrative, I think the most compelling is that Mary’s extravagant gift was one of love. In this, she models the most important aspect of our lives of faith: love. Love is what overwhelms Mary. Love is what prompts her to do something more. Her actions convey what cannot be spelled out in words or even in thought, they are only ones that can be demonstrated through an act of the heart. This story invites us to consider what our love for God might inspire us to do.

Having faith that is extravagant means being willing to truly love God with all that we have: minds, bodies, and heart. It means making the first “more” in our lives our relationship with God. Going above and beyond into something deeper still, and trusting that there is always something more to be learned, more to experienced, about the one who first loved us. This “more” is not about a transaction or monetary value. And it’s not about how many events we attend, or committees on which we serve. Extravagant faith is about how we live into these faith practices, and more importantly, about how God works through them to bring us restoration beyond anything we can imagine. Extravagant faith is about giving God all that we have, not just settling for the bare minimum. When we are overwhelmed by our love for God, we are apt to do wild and radical things, the kind of things that truly label us as Christ’s disciples.

It was love that inspired St. Patrick to return to Ireland. It was love that inspired volunteers to spend a Saturday afternoon loading groceries into cars yesterday. It is love that leads us to speak out where there is injustice – to stand up to the bullies of the world and proclaim that all deserve to be treated with love and respect. It is love that helps remind us to spend a few extra minutes checking in with someone we know is having a tough time. God’s love leads us to extravagant faith.

Some moments of extravagant faith, much like the perfume Mary poured, might seem temporary or fleeting. After all:

lots of extravagant gifts are put into the air, where they soon evaporate. A church choir labors to prepare an intricate anthem, and three minutes later it is gone. The teacher prepares the lesson, stands to deliver, and then class is adjourned. Mourners provide large arrangements of flowers to honor those whom they grieve. Saints donate large sums of money for their congregations to spend. Why do they do this? Love has its reasons[v].

But perhaps these aren’t as short-lived as we might think, for once we break open the jars of extravagant faith, “the fragrance of love’s actions is carried on the wind to places we never see[vi].”Acts of love and extravagant faith have the potential to grow into more, as generosity inspires generosity. Imagine how extravagantly-filled our lives could be if we all lived with a little more love, a little more faith. That is the hope of the Psalmist, and the encouragement of Jesus. To live a little more, for with God, the possibilities are endless. No act of faith is too small, and no act of faith is too large, when inspired by our love for God.

So let go a bit, of whatever holds you back from giving all that you have, all that you are, from God. Let God’s love wash over you and carry you to something new. Seek to be “more” of a disciple, and prepare for the overwhelming fragrance that comes when we live with a faith that is extravagant, worshiping a God whose grace and love is indeed always “more” than we could ever dream. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 18, 2018

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[i]Frances Taylor Gench, Encounters with Jesus: Studies in the Gospel of John. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 95.
[ii]Gail R. O’Day, “John 11:55-12:11,” The New Interpreter’s Bible: Volume IX: Luke John (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995).
[iii]William G. Carter, “John 12:1-8, Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 140.
[iv]O’Day, 703.
[v]Carter, 142.
[vi]H. Stephen Shoemaker, “John 12:1-8, Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 143.

Sunday’s Sermon – Snakes in the Wilderness – Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21

March 11, 2018 Leave a Comment

What are you most afraid of? Depending on the context and your frame of mind, the answer may vary. One poll from about ten years ago now indicates that 36 percent of all adults in the United States listed the same number one fear – snakes[i]. The clinical term for this is Ophidiophobia, which affects around 49 percent of women and 22 percent of men. It’s a fear that has been highlighted by movies like Snakes on a Plane, whose very premise makes my skin crawl a bit. And, of course, the character Indiana Jones is notorious for his fear and dislike of snakes, which seem to slip into many a scene in the classic trilogy. And while some of you might not be particularly wary of these cold-blooded creatures, my guess is few of us want to meet them in unexpected ways.

Because of this response, our scripture text from Numbers reads almost like another chapter in a story of suspense. The setting is the dry, hot desert, years into the Israelite’s journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. This story is the end of a series of “murmuring stories” where God’s people wonder if God is really leading them at all. They are tired and cranky, and become impatient about their destination. Their journey has seemed to cause them nothing but trouble, with one thing after another that makes things difficult. The deeper they get into the wilderness, it seems, the more romanticized memory they have of their lives as slaves in Egypt. Since chapter 11 they have longed for the “good ole days” when they at least had food to eat, like cucumbers, fish, melons, leeks, onions and garlic (see Numbers 11:4-6). Not mentioned, of course, was the oppressive rule and the demands for increased hard physical labor of building bricks and other abuse they endured as slaves (see Ex. 5:10-14). Instead, the focus becomes on the sparse supplies and jeopardy they seem to be in traveling across the desert. As one commentary notes:

Characteristically, in this unhappy situation, reinforced by the romanticized memory of how good it used to be, they quarreled, accused God of infidelity, and accused Moses of poor, failed leadership. (That is what people do when the economy fails)[ii].

The scene is set. Times are hard. The people are on edge. They are at odds with one another and with their leaders. You can imagine the soundtrack’s creeping music in the background, alerting us it’s about to get even worse. Cue the snakes.

If I were watching this film, I would want to fast forward past this part to get through the scary stuff. Or at the very least, I would cover my eyes and ask the brave person next to me to let me know when the bad parts were over. I’m guessing I’m not alone. Whether it’s snakes or some other fear, our tendency is to grit our teeth, hold on to the armrests, and make it through as quickly as possible, hopefully emerging on the other side without too many scratches on us. Perhaps this is how the Hebrews started their journey, in those harrowing moments as they passed through the waters of the Red Sea. But eventually that adrenaline wears out, and as they discovered, God was not always a safe and comfortable companion in the wilderness. In the midst of their journey, things literally jumped up and bit them.

Unfortunately, this is a fairly true reflection of real life. Hardship and difficulty sometimes spring up when we least expect it. Consider Kate Bowler, professor at Duke Divinity School, who recently published a book Everything Happens for a Reason, and Other Lies I’ve Loved. The book is a memoir about her journey as a 35 year old who appeared to have everything going for her – a thriving career, married to her high school sweetheart with a newborn son – all jarred by an unexpected diagnosis of stage IV colon cancer. In the midst of wrestling with her own mortality, she goes to Texas to hear an inspirational speaker during Lent, who confessed she didn’t like to deal with the heavy stuff, and was afraid of death and would rather not you talk about it either. Bowler, upset by this, said to a friend, “Everyone is trying to Easter the crap out of my Lent.” PCUSA Co-Moderator Jan Edmiston reflected on this quote from Bowler in a recent blog post. She reminds us that:

Lent reminds us that there is a world of suffering out there. . . . This is the season when we remember that death is part of life and we are called to notice it. We are called to face it. We are called to let the reality of death re-prioritize our lives[iii].

That is why we begin this season with ashes on our foreheads, hearing the line from Genesis “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Our text from Numbers returns us to this aspect of our Lenten journey. It reminds us that we live in a world that is dangerous and often unpredictable. It gives us permission to not just rush into resurrection, but name the “snakes” in our own wildernesses. The things that strike fear in us. The things that are like poison to our bodies and our relationships. The Hebrew word to describe the snakes is often translated as “poisonous,” but literally means “fiery” or “burning.” The story asks us to consider the things that seem to bite us and leave a sting.

Jan Edmiston offers us some suggestions, reminding us that with these snakes comes a healthy “shaking-my-fist-like-the-Psalmist” anger tied to lament. She writes:

I am angry that my friends’ child is tortured by cancer. I am angry that 18-year-olds in Florida can buy assault weapons and shoot other teenagers with them. I am angry that the world has forgotten Syria. I am angry that there is still no power in every corner of Puerto Rico[iv].

What might we add to this list? Perhaps the opioid epidemic across our country that strikes close to home here in Georgia. The CDC released a report this past Tuesday that indicated in just one year, overdoses from opioids have jumped by about 30 percent[v]. Or we might think about the accidental shooting during dismissal at Huffman High School in Birmingham, Alabama on Wednesday afternoon that killed a 17-year-old young woman. Or perhaps Thursday’s commemoration of the “International Women’s Day” would prompt us to consider the places of inequality that still exist in our world and the disproportionate violence committed against women. Whether globally, nationally, locally, or personally, we are surrounded by snakes. Naming them, though, is just the start. Jan Edmiston challenges us to do more than just lament; in Lent especially, she says, we are called to ask:

How are we offering ourselves to stand with those who suffer?[vi]

Our time in the wilderness is meant to remind us that our lives are more than just about us. And if we look around and discover that those with us on the journey have been bitten, we might want to try to do something about it; something more than just lament.

Looking back to the Israelites, we discover that, despite their complaining and perhaps doubts, they turn to God. They bring the brokenness of their experience, including the snakes, and beg for them to be removed. And God responds with an act of solidarity.
“It is notable that God does not remove the snakes, but provides a means for healing in the midst of danger. God brings healing precisely where the sting is the worst.”[vii].

God instructs Moses to take the poisonous serpent, the ones who have caused the people such pain, and set it on a pole that people might be healed. Elizabeth Webb suggests that this passage tells us a lot about the character of God:

Even in our worst failures and disappointments, God provides. God offers healing for our wounds, relationship for our loneliness, and faithfulness for our faithlessness. God doesn’t remove the sources of our suffering, but God makes the journey with us, providing what we most deeply need, if we but look in the right direction.[viii]

The staff of Moses provides the Israelites with a direction to look. Although we learn in later history it becomes an idol for them that must be destroyed during the temple reform of King Hezekiah (see 2 Kings 18:4), it is meant to be more of a sign and seal of God’s transforming power over anything, even death. Like our sacrament of communion, it could have been a reminder to the people to “lift up their hearts to the Lord,” to the one who was their salvation. In Jordan there is a metal sculpture, the one pictured on your bulletin cover, meant to represent this pole intertwined with a serpent, placed at Mt. Nebo, the final destination for Moses, who was able to look over the Promised Land, but not enter it. The Florentine artist, Giovanni Fantoni, intentionally crafted the design to also connect to the reference to this story in John’s gospel, with the upper arms of the staff extending horizontally, almost like the cross.

Like the staff, the cross proclaims God’s solidarity with a suffering world. To hear those familiar words from John’s gospel in tandem with this referenced text in Numbers enriches its meaning. It reminds us that God loved this world, this messed up, full of snakes, suffering world with all of its sin and pain. That it was to this wilderness of a world that God sent Jesus Christ, that we might lift our eyes and see love. And indeed, our Lord even spent time in the literal wilderness. 40 days in fact. Which means that even if we are in the midst of a pit of snakes, or worse, find ourselves bitten, we know that we do not have to travel this desert road alone. For we travel with one who has been lifted up and who indeed overcomes all evil with good. That, in the midst of the wilderness, is good news. Especially when snakes are involved. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 11, 2018

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[i]Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Numbers 21:4-9,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008). In reference to a recent Harris poll on “What We Are Afraid Of”.
[ii] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, and James D. Newsome, “Fourth Sunday in Lent,” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV – Year B. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1993).
[iii] Jan Edmiston, “Don’t Easter My Lent,” blog post dated February 22, 2018, https://achurchforstarvingartists.wordpress.com/2018/02/22/dont-easter-my-lent/, accessed 3/8/2018.
[iv] Jan Ediston.
[v] Rob Stein, “Jump In Overdoses Shows Opioid Epidemic Has Worsened”, National Public Radio, All Things Considered, march 6, 2018, https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/03/06/590923149/jump-in-overdoses-shows-opioid-epidemic-has-worsened, accessed 3/8/2018.
[vi] Jan Edmiston.
[vii] Elizabeth Webb, “Commentary on Numbers 21:4-9,” Working Preacher, March 18, 2012, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1225, accessed 3/8/2018.
[viii] Elizabeth Webb.

Sunday’s Sermon – Check or Carry-On? – Mark 8:31-38

March 4, 2018 Leave a Comment

Do you ever people watch at the airport? One of my favorite games to play is guessing where people are going, or where they’ve been. And you can often do it with only a few clues at the security check point, as bag contents are often spread out before you. It’s incredible what people take in their carry-on baggage. A few weeks ago in Galveston, Texas, I was next to a family laden down with Mardi Gras beads. One young woman had a necklace with large ornament softball size balls – apparently that wasn’t fitting in her checked luggage. A few years ago I watched a man talk at length with a TSA official about whether or not he was able to carry-on a box of Velveeta cheese. I’m still wondering about that one. What we pack says a lot about us, and it helps shape the journey we’ll have along the way. What are those things that we can’t live without, even for a few hours on a plane? Today’s gospel lesson from Mark brings a direct and startling instruction about what the disciples should make sure they have with them in their carry-ons: the cross.

In the first century, the mention of the cross would have some immediate connotations. This was a device of torture – usually reserved for slaves and political criminal – that represented humiliation and extreme agony. Crucifixion was extreme, and appropriately terrifying. It would have been an exclamation point or bolded underline of his statement just a few sentences before about the suffering the “son of man” would experience. Such an image would have rattled the disciples to the very core. Their jaws must have been on the floor.

In contrast, we don’t tend to have such a strong reaction to seeing the cross today. It sits at the top of a steeple, or looms large in the front of our church sanctuaries. We wear it as jewelry and put it on bumper stickers and decals on our cars. When we look at it, we are slower to connect it as a startling image of torture and suffering. Many theologians have tried to modernize this image for us today, saying that the equivalent in our society today would be something like putting a fully functional electric chair at the entrance to our houses of worship. That is a thought that could easily put pits in our stomachs and make words get caught in the lumps in our throats. If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be more comforting to replace our crosses with another symbol? Perhaps the empty tomb, or a smiling, thumbs-up “Buddy Christ” as in the movie Dogma to put a fresh face on our faith. It’s a tempting idea. We don’t like to think about the cross too much. Theologian William Placher offers that:

we do not think about its meaning because we want to call ourselves Christians while avoiding the thought that the implications of our faith might threaten our comfort[i].
But Mark’s gospel doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. Jesus calls his disciples, and us, to take up the cross, and consider all it implies.

The cross represents a pivotal moment of our faith – Jesus’ death.

the cross represents the culmination of the incarnation: divinity fully united with humanity. Christ did not take on a “higher” human nature while avoiding the tough side of it . . . The cross shows that in Christ God is with us, no matter what. Even when we doubt or disbelieve or think ourselves completely cut off from God, Christ has been there before us. Christ is, as the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead said of God, “the great companion- the fellow sufferer who understands”[ii].

On the cross, God’s love to us is realized. As Protestant Christians, our cross is empty, primarily because we anticipate the rest of the story – we know that Jesus wasn’t left on the cross. In this anticipation of the resurrection, though, we must be careful to make sure that our empty crosses are not empty of meaning, too.

In his teaching in Mark, Jesus helps the disciples, and us, connect the meaning of the cross to the foundations of discipleship. Verse 34 spells it out: Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The instructions are bookended with the word “follow.” This reminds us that we’re not trailblazing something totally new. Rather, we are traveling a path with someone who has been there and will be there with us along the way – Jesus. Along the way we are to do two things.

First, deny ourselves. In Lent, you might hear a lot about this step, and as we near the halfway point, such instruction might be the reminder you need if you have given something up for the season. Denying ourselves, though, doesn’t just come from giving up chocolate or soda. It can also be about setting our own selfishness aside, and take seriously that part of the Lord’s Prayer that says “THY will be done,” and invest our time and energies on making GOD a part of our decisions. In short, it’s about focus –not on ourselves, but on God. In a world that often pushes us to be self-serving, this alone would be challenge enough. But Jesus isn’t done yet.

The second step is to take up our crosses. Remember, the cross is the symbol of our salvation. Note, Jesus doesn’t say “ok, now that you have faith, I’d like you to very carefully wrap up this cross in bubble wrap, tucking your socks and soft clothing around the joints to protect it, and put this central part of your faith in your checked luggage.” Jesus doesn’t tell us to check the cross and pick it up at the end of the journey. He tells us to do the opposite – take it up, in essence to put it on our carry-on luggage. Keep it with us as something that is vital and important to us – so important we wouldn’t want to let it out of our sight or possession. As the carry-on baggage sign at Southwest (the one on the cover of the bulletin) remind us, “if it fits, it’s a carry-on.” Perhaps our task, then, is to consider how well or not the cross “fits” into our lives. Or better, how our lives fit into our understanding of the cross.

For many, perhaps even some of us this morning, the idea of “take up your cross” is closely associated with a particular hardship in their life they must endure, because, after all, Jesus suffered, and instructed his disciples to take up their crosses. It’s not hard to see how we end up with this conclusion from this passage, but it breaks my heart to think of the implications of this theology taken to its end. To bring to mind those who are being oppressed, and are told they must simply endure it. To imagine the woman who is in an abusive relationship, but continues to return to the abuser believing that this is her cross to bear. Or a man who does not reach out to a sponsor or go to a meeting, thinking he has to battle addiction as his own cross. Let me be very clear here. Jesus’ instruction to “take up your cross” is NOT God’s instruction to us that we must passively endure discrimination or actively experience real harm from others in order to be in solidarity with Christ. That is neither the God I know, nor a God I could worship faithfully. That is not the God we find on the cross. Jesus did not die on the cross so that we could join him and suffer. Christ died on the cross so that we might have LIFE, and life abundant.

Taking up the cross is not about being tied up in its suffering. Through the cross, God promises that suffering is not the end result. From death on the cross springs a new life, an eternal life, made possible through Jesus’ resurrection. Reconciliation and wholeness is the end for which I believe God yearns and desires. And so, to take up our cross means to live our lives in a way that seeks wholeness and reconciliation for all of God’s children; to be a people who reflect the God we worship.

Carrying the cross marks us as God’s own, as Christians, and demonstrates God’s love for the world. We take up the cross when we speak words of compassion rather than words of hate at those who have frustrated us, and when we refrain from snarky comments behind their backs. We take up the cross when we work to make sure children do not go hungry. We take up the cross when we pray for our loved ones, our community, and our world. We take up the cross when we come to this table for communion, experiencing the real and powerful presence of Jesus in our midst as we share in bread and cup.

Sometimes carrying the label of Christian is easy and light; other times carrying the label of Christian can feel like dragging a solid wooden cross through the mud. And yet, we are called to take it up, each and every day. Tom Long reminds us that:

sometimes, frankly, the commands of Jesus and the demands of life – a job, a social setting, or a relationship – are in tension, if not outright conflict, and the workaday life of Christians is filled with a thousand moral dilemmas.[iii]

We need the cross with us on the journey to keep us grounded in our faith, rooted in the heart of what really matters. As followers of Christ, we have been entrusted with the cross. But it is up to us to decide whether we will put it in our checked bags, or be brave enough to carry it on with us wherever we go. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
March 4, 2018

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[i] William C. Placher, Jesus the Savior: The Meaning of Jesus Christ for Christian Faith (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001). 111.
[ii] Placher, 128-129.
[iii] Thomas G. Long, Testimony: Talking Ourselves into Being Christian (San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 2004), 89.

Sunday’s Sermon – Purpose-Driven – Exodus 20:1-17, John 2:13-22

February 25, 2018 Leave a Comment

How would you define your purpose in life? Do you have a personal credo or mantra that defines how you approach the world? Some take on a particular verse in scripture, or favorite inspirational quote, in order to give themselves a sense of focus for both big life decisions and daily interactions with the world. At the beginning of January, many of you drew a “star word” on Epiphany, meant to inspire and lead you throughout this year (if you have lost yours, or did not get one, the basket is sitting in the Narthex today).

If you are a part of a group, you might see it written out in particular phrases or mission statements. Scouting is a wonderful example of this practice, some of which you heard shared this morning[i]. These core values and ideals promoted by Scouting provide a solid framework of what it means to be a compassionate, thoughtful participant in the world. They are strong words to live by.

As a community of faith here at Heritage Presbyterian Church, we proclaim words of purpose each week on the cover of our bulletin through our church’s mission statement: “called by God’s grace to make disciples, as we minister to the needs of a broken world.” Another is attached to the exterior of the M&M building up the hill: “love grows here.” These are markers for us as a church, and are meant to guide us into a faithful living out of our calling as Christ’s disciples in this time and place, so that all we do might be oriented in this direction.

In our first reading this morning from Exodus, we are reminded of another set of “words to live by” as Moses delivered to the Israelites an important list from God. 10 things, written on two stone tablets, that were meant to guide and shape how the people of God lived. Often, we view them as some sort of check-list to follow, or list of rules and regulations. And while certainly I would agree that following these is a good idea, I think this list is about more than just a bunch of “dos and don’ts.” It’s about what it means to be in relationship with God and others. As Barbara Brown Taylor Notes:

They express the purposeful will of God for God’s people. . . .
the teachings describe the way of life[ii].

In his famous book[iii], Rick Warren argued that the start to our understanding of ourselves and the world needed to begin with an understanding of God’s purposes for us. He outlines 5 purposes he believes, based on Scripture, that God has for us. The first is that:

We were planned for God’s pleasure, so your first purpose is to offer real worship[iv].

It seems Dr. Warren might have been reading along in Exodus. The first four commandments describe a way of life that is centered around God. They offer a focal point for all of our worship, and indeed our very rhythm of life, with God at the center of it all.

Let me add here, we’re not just talking about an hour block of time on a Sunday morning. Worship in this sense is meant to embody the essence of our approach to life as a whole. It happens when we gather for a worship service, or study, or service as a faith community, when we share laughter and break bread around a dinner table, and when we comfort each other during tough times. Worship is an awareness, acknowledgement, or even longing for God’s presence to be with us. It is a declaration that there is an inextricable bond between us and the divine; that God is our purpose.

When we are centered in a love of God, we naturally become drawn to love each other. Lives grounded in worship lead us into faithful community. Conveniently, Rick Warren’s second identified purpose is that:

We were formed for God’s family, so your second purpose is to enjoy real fellowship[v].

Like worship, fellowship is meant here to be broadly understood. It’s not just about our relationship with our nuclear family or the people sitting next to us in the pews. It’s about our engagement with all of God’s children, near and far. Craig Kocher reminds us that:

Proper praise of God shapes our social responsibility; good theology is good ethics[vi].

Our lives of worship compel us to engage in the world in a different way, with actions that flow from our sense of God’s purpose for the world. In the Jewish tradition, the giving of the Torah is marked each spring (this year May 19-21) with the festival of Shavuot, a pilgrimage festival, where the tradition on the first night is to

[stay]up all night to study Torah, Talmud, and other sacred writings together. They offer this annual all-night gathering, known as a tikkun, for the mending of the world[vii].

For centuries, the practice of God’s people around these commandments involves celebration, study, and worship, which leads to real action in the world.

The final six commandments outline how we are to engage in relationship with each other so that true fellowship might come to life. The ways of life described in these somewhat detailed commandments highlight many of the guiding ethos that contribute to a community marked by honesty, respect, integrity, and truthfulness.

On this second Sunday of Lent, hearing these commandments again can help renew our commitments to living a life marked by God’s purpose. During these 40 days, we are called to closely examine how well or not our lives match up against the lives God has intended for us to live. In some ways, it’s a predictable answer – they have fallen short. Even our moments of triumph and success are mixed with faltering and missteps, or times when we have completely fallen on our face. In Lent we confess the ways in which we have either lost track of or intentionally abandoned our sense of purpose for living as children of God, and as a result the whole fabric of our relationship with God and one another is torn apart.

And Jesus enters the temple, on what should have been a holy time of preparation for the Passover meal, when many would have been traveling to Jerusalem, with:

Hearts and minds are focused on the exodus event and expectations of deliverance[viii]

One would expect some sellers of sacrificial animals and money changers with such a crowd, enabling pilgrims to participate in the rituals of worship and sacrifice; this activity may have even been seen as in service to the temple. But, as we see from Jesus’ reaction, all is not as it should be.

While the place appeared to fulfill its function, closer inspection revealed that it had forgotten its purpose[ix].

With all of the holy rage and force of the prophets of old[x], Jesus quite literally cracks the whip and turns over tables. He calls out the people of God with signs that cannot be ignored. It’s a startling first impression to make, as the gospel of John sequences this as Jesus’ first public appearance.

It’s a hard image to swallow. Most of us would prefer the docile, sweet-expression Jesus holding a lamb, or playing with children, or just staring off into the distance. But the gospels are rich with illustrations of a confrontational Jesus, one who speaks truth even when it is uncomfortable to hear; one who challenges our complacency and lack of purpose in direct and forceful ways. One who isn’t afraid to make a bit of a scene to accomplish his purpose in reorienting us to our own. Commentator Paul Shupe names it for us, that we:

feel queasy in the pit of the stomach when Jesus takes up his whip and drives the money changers from the temple. Queasy because along with the surge of righteous adrenaline that is produced when Jesus shifts into his prophetic mode comes the sneaking fear that we might have more in common with the targets of his judgment than with the righteousness of his cause . . . The text pushes us to imagine Jesus entering our own sanctuaries, overturning our own cherished rationalizations and driving us out in the name of God[xi].

That queasiness is the work of Lent, I think. It’s also the work of discipleship.

Rick Warren’s final 3 purposes are all related to this:

We were created to become like Christ, so your third purpose is to learn real discipleship . . . We were shaped for serving God, so your fourth purpose is to practice real ministry. . . . We were made for a mission, so your fifth purpose is to live out real evangelism[xii].

In order to live out these purposes, we have to be willing to let Jesus turn over the tables in our lives and in our society. Those things that we cling to; that have become like idols to us; those things that are keeping us from living the purpose-driven lives God intends for us – lives marked by a spirit of worship and a deepening of community.

This the purpose we are called to, as individuals and as communities of people in various configurations. It begins with a focus on God, and leads to the intentional and faithful building of relationships. That’s the summation of those commandments, underlined by Jesus – love God, and love others. That is our purpose. It is that easy. It is that hard. It is our work to do. May our tables be overturned, that we might be startled into a different way of being. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
February 25, 2018

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[i] The Boy Scout Oath promises: “to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout law,” which is “to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.” Similarly, the Girl Scout Promise: “On my honor, I will try, to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout law.”
[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iii] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013).
[iv] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/
[v] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/
[vi] Craig Kocher, “Pastoral Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,”,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[vii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective: Exodus 20:1-17,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[viii] W. Hulitt Gloer, “Homiletical Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[ix] W. Hulitt Gloer, “Homiletical Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[x] See Jeremiah 7:1-11 for additional background on Jesus’ language here. Also consider the relationship between worship and justice outlined in Amos 5:21-24, Hosea 6:6, Micah 6:6-8.
[xi] Paul C. Shupe, “Pastoral Perspective: John 2:13-22,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[xii] Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life, (Zondervan, 2013). http://purposedriven.com/books/pdlbook/

Sunday’s Sermon – Through the Waters – Genesis 7:6-16

February 18, 2018 Leave a Comment

Note: This is an outline of the sermon preached by Cassie Waits on February 18, 2018

At our house, there is no toy as useful as a large box. Time and again, my children gravitate – not to the latest toy from the store – but to the simple, humble box.

A box is full of possibilities! It can be a house, a stage, a table, or a car. If you’re re-enacting the story of Noah, that very same box works nicely as a boat.

When it comes to the story of Noah’s Ark – you really do need a boat. Now, we know that Noah was building a boat because we’ve seen the picture. You know the one – it includes Noah and his family, standing in front of the giant boat and all the animals hanging off the top and the rainbow arching overheard.

That’s not the only picture either. Faithful Christians have been trying to paint, draw and otherwise replicate the ark for centuries.

In the pictures we see and in the replicas we visit, we notice one thing: the ark is a boat.

Is it a boat though? Have you ever wondered about that? Why does the Bible insist on calling it an ark? The word “ark” is a bit…archaic in English.

Why not use boat? Why not use ship? The Old Testament has plenty of ships. We find ships in Genesis and Deuteronomy, Judges, Kings, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Psalms, Job, Proverbs, Daniel, Chronicles…ships are everywhere.

Then, we might remember Jonah! God called Jonah to prophecy to the Ninevites and Jonah said, “Sure!” Then he got on a SHIP headed in the opposite direction. The Bible is very clear that Jonah was on a SHIP. Jonah was not on an ark.

Why would God ask Noah to build an ark? What’s so special about an ark?

We might start with the word ark. Merriam Webster’s dictionary says an “ark” is: a boat or ship like the one in which Noah’s family was preserved from the Flood. Of course, we already knew THAT. We want to know what else does “ark” mean?

If we dig a little further, we learn that “ark” comes from a Latin word that means “box.”

This is more helpful. In Genesis 6, we find that God gives Noah exact specifications for the ark. It should be 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide and 30 cubits high. That’s all God says. We notice that this doesn’t sound like a boat. It sounds like a box.

Is the ark a kind of box?

We could dig still deeper. We could find out that the Hebrew word behind “ark” is tbt (pronounced TAY-vot). As you might have guessed, tay-vot is not the same as the Hebrew word for “ship.” Actually, tay-vot is a rare word. It only occurs in two places in the Bible: in the life of Noah and in the life of Moses. (Remember that basket Moses was placed in as a baby? That’s the other tay-vot.) Both Moses and Noah are saved through a tay-vot. An ark.

Maybe the ark is a kind of basket. Or a place of protection.

We might look a little further though. We would find that there’s still more to this word tay-vot. This word has an interesting history.

In English, we have what’s called a loan word. These are words we borrow from other languages. déjà vu – comes from French and jalapeno comes from Spanish. Ancient Israelites had loan words too. Tay-vot is a loan word. It comes from Egypt.

The Egyptians had a word tbt (pronounced ta-BOOT) The Israelites borrowed it and began to incorporate it into their language. Over time, ta-boot became tay-vot. The Israelites began to use this word in their stories. Then we translated it as “ark” and now we use this word.

What does ta–boot mean? In a general sense, it means “box.” No surprise there.

But more specifically, and more surprisingly, ta-boot means COFFIN.

So, what IS Noah building? We begin to sense the real uncertainty in the story. God has called Noah to a task and it is not altogether clear what the end of that task will be or what Noah’s end will be.

We might understand a little of how Noah feels. We face our own floods in life.

Sometimes the flood we face is an actual flood. It sure doesn’t take a lot of water to ruin a basement.

Sometimes the flood is financial. We don’t know whether we’re right-side-up or up-side-down.

Sometimes the flood is relational. One day all is well, and the next our relationships are breaking and our social support is crumbling.

Sometimes the flood is our health. A minor ache turns into a major issue from which we fear we will not recover.

The floods come and we are powerless to stop them. We are engulfed by chaos. We feel like everything that is certain and real in our lives is being washed away.

We wonder – with Noah – what EXACTLY did God mean by the word tay-vot?

Will Noah’s ark be a place of death? At this moment in the text – it is not clear. It can be hard to sit with that uncertainty. Hard to sit with Noah as the rain begins to fall. Hard not to know where the journey will lead.

We are fortunate. We do know the end of the story. What we find and what Noah finds is that the ARK is the place where God overturns all expectations. For God, this is NOT a place of death, but a place of deliverance.

What we find is that the path to salvation leads us precisely where we DO NOT WANT TO GO. We are saved – not by our safe perch above and away from the flood – but by entering into the very heart of danger and chaos and being carried THROUGH the water – held fast by the hand of God.

When Noah, and later Moses, emerge from the ARK they are REBORN.

The ones who should have been dead find they are very much alive.

When he enters the ark, Noah enters a sacred space. In some sense, it is both a tomb and a womb. The old life has passed away and a new life has begun. But that new life requires Noah to faithfully follow God’s instruction – even in moments of great uncertainty and fear. It requires Noah to be patient, to wait, to give up any hope of steering himself through the storm, and to trust that God will deliver him – not FROM the waters, but THROUGH the waters.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent. During this time, we remember the last days of Jesus and his last long walk to Jerusalem.

The disciples walked with Jesus in his last days. They had followed Jesus and listened to Jesus and learned from Jesus. And yet, like Noah – they also did not really know what was to come. Even to the last hour, they did not recognize how God might be at work.

During Lent, we walk with them. In the uncertainty, in the fear, in the doubt.

Noah walks into the ark with his family. It seems like a dead end. How can they could they possible survive this? How could any person survive? Jesus walks toward Jerusalem and it seems like a dead end. He is crucified. He is laid in a tomb.

And yet, just as Jesus’ tomb could not hold him, neither could the ark hold Noah.

Where we see a box, God sees a boat.

Where we see a place of death, God sees a place of deliverance.

The journey of Lent is our own journey. As we draw to the end of Jesus’ life, we are reminded of the end of our own. On Ash Wednesday, we receive the mark of ashes with these words: “from dust you came, and dust you will become.”

At the end of our days, our dust will be gathered into an ark, but we remember that the ark is more than a box, more than a basket, more than a boat, more than a coffin. It is a place of transformation. A place of radical reversal.

Where we see death, God sees life.

So it was for Noah.

So it was for Moses.

So it is for Jesus.

May it be so for us.

Amen.

~Elder Cassie Waits, M.Div., February 11, 2018

Cassie is a member of Heritage Presbyterian Church, currently under care with Cherokee Presbytery as a candidate for ordination it the PCUSA. She graduated from Columbia Theological Seminary with a M.Div in 2017, and is currently pursuing a Master’s of Theology from Emory University.

Ash Wednesday Sermon – God’s Return Policy – Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

February 14, 2018 Leave a Comment

One of the realities of living in a consumer-driven culture such as ours is that inevitably at some point, we end up purchasing something and then realizing, for whatever reason, that we need to return it. From unwanted or duplicate gifts to things that don’t fit to products that are defective, life leads us to the customer service area and the return line. And, as long as you’re not in too much of a hurry, it’s a pretty good system. One of the keys to a successful trip, and to not holding up the line, is to know something about the store’s return policy. Receipts can be a saving grace, but if you’ve lost that little strip of paper, stores can now look up your purchase if you used a credit card. Without some record, you might be stuck with the lowest retail price from the past 90 days, the opportunity for an exchange, or simply store credit. Reading the fine print, a store’s return policy gets quickly complicated. If you’ve made your purchase online, you add another layer of complexity, even if they have retail stores nearby. Sometimes the long lines and hassle can make you wonder if it’s even worth it to make the return, or if you should just cut your losses and keep what you have.

Our experience with returns might help us as we begin the season of Lent. This is a time when we’re called to closely examine our lives and seek to be more faithful followers of Christ. In doing so, we are likely to find aspects of our lives that need to be changed or eliminated entirely – exchanged or return, if you will. Consider it standing in line for God’s customer service – a 40 day line (not including Sundays) where you think more about what it is that you are carrying, and prepare to lighten the load at the counter. To make this analogy work, we have to understand God’s return policy. To do so, we turn to Scripture.

The prophets have a lot to say about returns. In fact, it’s one of their most popular words of instruction to the Israelites. “In Hebrew, this verb means ‘to arrive again at the initial point of departure.’ Here it suggests that one had been originally with God, had moved away from God, and was not returning to God[i].” Return is an about face, a change in direction, and a reorientation to the world. It is a word of hope and a word of covenant, trusting that returning to God will bring about restoration for God’s people. Joel follows this understanding of return, calling God’s people to it in the text we read tonight. Throughout this short book, he suggests that Jerusalem has forgotten who God is, and calls upon God’s people to rediscover the identity of the one true God. Verse 13 reminds God’s people of the true divine nature. This description is ancient – going all the way back to promise of God to Moses in Exodus 34 after the people had created a golden calf. It is the perfect, concise example of God’s return policy: that God is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.” All of our questions about returning to God rest on this truth.

Joel speaks of return in the context of imminent disaster, perhaps a natural one with a plague of locusts. The beginning of our reading tonight indicates something looming on the horizon, which Joel attributes to calamity brought about by “the day of the Lord.” Something big is going to happen. One commentary refers to this text as “an alarm bell in the darkness of the night[ii].” Joel’s language would immediately register with the Israelites in Judah; it is a call to attention and to action. Given this policy, we are called to get our items, and ourselves, in order quickly. Don’t just leave your returns on the kitchen counter or lost in your trunk, a procrastinated item from the errands list. Pay attention to them and get it done. This is the work of return. This is the work of Lent. Lent is about letting go of those things that get in the way of our relationship with God and with others. It is about sorting through all the “stuff” that we have in our lives and make decisions about what should stay and what should go. This is why some people “give up” things for the season, and others take on new practices or focus on things in a new way.

But more than just “giving something up” for a season, I think our passage tonight asks what do you have to return to God? Those things in your life that you would like to change, but need help to make it happen. Those things that just aren’t working for you to grow in the ways you know God is calling you to. Those things you wish you hadn’t bought into and would like to give up. Those things that you simply have too much of and don’t really need. Take inventory over these next 40 days, and don’t be afraid to bring them to God for return. There’s no limit on what God will take back. In fact, God invites us to bring it all – even the things we are too embarrassed to talk about. God is always ready and waiting, open 24 hours a day if you will, to hear us.

Sometimes, the return process includes naming why we are returning or exchanging a particular item. Some of the options include: didn’t fit (too big or too small), wasn’t what was expected, changed my mind, the product was defective, and so on. This naming is important for us to do in Lent. It helps us do more than just identify our sins – it calls us to understand where they came from in order to make the changes needed to hopefully avoid repeating them in the future. It enables God to work with us and make us into new creations. It’s God’s exchange process at work, a process that utimately isn’t dependent on anything we have done or can do, but reminds us that we are solely reliant on God’s love and grace. In the midst of what is very difficult and sobering work, this is good news. God not only takes back our returns, no matter what – God works in us to make us right with God once again. Returning to God, as Joel outlines in verse 13, is more than just a transactional return; this is a process of transformation.

Lent calls us to read the fine print God’s return policy. It allows us to test it out, carefully and thoughtfully. We do so confident in who God is. And if the words of prophets like Joel aren’t strong enough to convince us, there is one more guarantee in place. In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God’s grace was revealed to the whole world. In Christ, the promises of God from the very beginning were sealed forever. In life and in death, we belong to God. This is what we gather to remind ourselves of tonight, receiving crosses on our foreheads to indicate whose we are, symbolized in ashes to remind us of our own mortality and our utter dependence on God for all things. We get in line, not only to confess our sins and humble ourselves, as covering in ashes symbolized in the days of the prophets, but also to return ourselves to the one who created us from nothing, and loves us through anything.

The return line begins here, tonight. Bring what you have, who you are this evening, and know that you can continue to return what you need to over this season of Lent and beyond. There is no return too big or too small. There is no return that God will not accept. For God already knows everything we could possibly bring, and has chosen to love us anyway. So come, Return to the Lord. Trust that God is gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and always ready for your return. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
Ash Wednesday, February 14, 2018

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[i] Dianne Bergant, “Joel 2:1-2, 12-17, Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
^[ii] Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV, Year C. Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, J. Clinton McCann, Jr., James D. Newsome, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994)

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